He Doesn't Love Her
by Allz1298
Summary: After the interrogation with Lorelei, Lisbon goes to sulk in her office. What comes of a heated argument with Jane? Does he pronouce his love? Does she push him away? Spoilers for the season finale! Chisbon and Jisbon. But mostly Jisbon. Allie :
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey, this is my first Mentalist fic. It probably isn't any good, but please read on anyway. Tell me whatcha think, if there are any mistakes, tips, leave a review. Hope ya like it. It's supposed to be a on-shot but if you have any ideas, maybe I would continue? Thanks, Allie =D

Disclaimer: No matter how much I hope, I will never own The Mentalist :[

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"Didn't he tell you that we were lovers?" They were lovers. But he told me he loved me. He must not have meant it. He doesn't want you, Teresa. He never wanted you. He wants the young ones, the pretty ones. He pulled your heart into him without noticing, you can't blame him. It's not his fault that he's gorgeous and talented. He shred your heart to pieces without noticing. But she misses him. And you can't miss something you never had, he used to tell you that, remember? I bet he doesn't remember. He told you he loved you, but it was just the cover. Because he doesn't remember.

She was silent as she walked out of interrogation. She made her way to her office. Grace tried to be nice and tell her that she looked good today, but she knew she didn't. And Grace knew that when she got that look from her not to say anything. Lisbon locked her door and pulled down he blinds. She wasn't in the mood to be talked to. And she was sure Cho was capable of finishing the interrogation of Lorelei without her.

She sat in her chair, bored. She had finished all of her paperwork hours ago. Patrick Jane was not stupid enough to pick the lock on her door to come and bother her. She was glad he was back, though. She could stare at his golden blonde curls when she thought he wouldn't notice. But of course, he did, and she knew it. She would notice that when he smiles and laughs truly that his eyes crinkle, and his dimples show. He hadn't done that recently.

She heard a light rapping on the door. "I'm working," She tried to say strongly, but her voice cracked. She tried hard not to cry, she doesn't cry. But she did, every night that he was away. Every night she would hold her phone close, hoping he would call, saying he was good and he was coming back. He never did. But it's not his fault. He didn't know that she cared, she never told him.

"Lisbon, Teresa, please open the door." Was the whisper, pleading with her. She knew she couldn't say no, she knew she would open the door eventually. She got up from her chair slowly, hesitantly. Her hand reached the metal doorknob and she swallowed. She imagined him there, holding on to the same knob as she, worry across his face. She wished he was worried about her. But he wasn't, and it wasn't his fault. He had no reason to worry about her. She swallowed and turned the handle. She turned, not wanting to look at him, and sat back down in her chair, staring at the screen of her laptop, pretending to be doing work.

Jane sat down on her couch, watching her intently. He wondered how she was. She thought Lorelei was his lover-that he loved Lorelei. But he didn't love her. How was he supposed to explain that to her? He had slept with Lorelei, but didn't love her. He wanted to scream it at Lisbon, but she wouldn't believe him. And she shouldn't. He hadn't been very reliable to her, he regretted that. But he sure as hell wouldn't be able to fix that anytime soon. She wasn't even angry at him, he could tell. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her that she should hit him, shoot him, say angry words to him, but he couldn't. He wanted her to love him, hold him, and tell him everything was going to be alright. But he couldn't. He would just make a fool of himself. She would laugh at him and tell him that he was just her employee, or just her connection to Red John. No, no she wouldn't do that. She was his saint, his savior. She would deny him just being her Red John connection, so he would feel better. He could always count on her to do that.

She was getting angry at him now, the silence was deafening. Why wouldn't he just say something already, anything! She wanted to hear his fighting words, just to make sure that he felt something. Anything.

"What do you want, Jane?" She asked tiredly.

"Why aren't you mad?"

"Why should I be mad? Why do you want me to be mad?" She inquired.

"Because you can't just sit there, sit there and feel nothing at all."

"I am not the one that doesn't feel anything!" She shouted at him. "You're the one that goes around and makes everyone fall in love with you, and piss everyone off! How the hell did you manage to piss off every single politician in the area, AND a freaking serial killer, Jane? How do you make everyone go after you and expect me to have your back every single time? I can't do it anymore, Jane! I can't pretend that whenever you get hurt or whenever any other woman flirts with you that I don't feel anything. I should just quit,"

He stood up, and slowly walked over to her desk. "Jane, I," She swallowed, "I didn't mean that,"

"Don't you ever tell me you love me, and then say you don't mean it." He said, with his face only centimeters from hers. His blue orbs searched her green ones for any hint that she really did mean what she said.

"Why does it matter, when you don't love me back?" She whispered. "If it hurt your ego, I'm sorry," Her voice cracked again. She slowly stood up, his face following hers. As she was about to move away, Jane snatched her wrist.

"Don't you ever think for a second that I don't care about you, that I don't love you. When I say things, I mean them."

"You're lying to me. You could never love me, I don't know how I ever thought that you could."

Tears were forming in her eyes again. "Tell the team I said goodbye, and hand this to the new boss." She snapped, handing his a manila folder.

"What is this?"

"My resignation." She grabbed her jacket and jogged to the elevator, not looking back. She heard him shout her name, but continued on. The walk to her car was blurry, she couldn't get over the fact that she was crying over Patrick Jane. But it doesn't matter, because he doesn't love her. He never would.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: My muse decided to come to me on this very hot day while watching a Mentalist episode On Demand. Oh, and listening to the song 'Home' by Daughtry. I thought it was very fitting to this situation. So anyway, tell me if it should just be a two or three-shot, or if you think it needs more. The end is kind of like a song-fic, but not really. Yeah, so read on my fellow fanfic-ers! BTW, does anybody even read these Author Note things? I mean, I don't. But I guess if you're reading this you actually do. Well I'm rambling, that was strange, and you are probably bored. So just read on.

She had called. Everyday she would leave him a message, telling him that he should come home. That Wainwright would've given him his job back if he just apologized. And everyday he would listen to Lisbon's messages, each one more urgent. After the second month, Jane couldn't listen to them anymore. They broke his heart when he heard her voice crack when she was on the verge of tears. He couldn't bear the pain in her voice. He shouldn't have left again, he knew that. But when he went to Lisbon's apartment that night, he had said that he should leave and not her.

He had realized that he was getting to close to her. He could feel Red John planning to take her away, to break him again. Jane didn't think that he would be able to go on after that. He knew that's what he meant when he asked him if he was ready to give up. If he hurt Lisbon he would be done for good; without getting revenge for everyone that Red John had killed. He wouldn't let that happen. So he hurt her himself. Not exactly the best rationalization.

He flipped his phone open. He began deleting the voicemails from the bottom of the list. When he came to the last one, the one from today, he paused. Jane's finger slid over the button that would make her voice play. He pressed it, just to hear her voice.

"_Jane," _came her voice. It sounded hoarse and tired. Exhausted. _"Dammit, Jane, pick up your phone! How the hell am I supposed to know that you're not at the bottom of a river somewhere? Or lying in some run-down motel with a smiley face painted above your body? How the hell am I supposed to know?" _He paused it.

Jane could tell she was crying now. He knew he couldn't last much longer here. He pictured her face. He was surprised he could see it clearly. It was the time when she had been the suspect in the murder of the pedophile that was out of jail. She was eating her donut happily, putting her office back together. Jane smiled. His ball of fire…

He wondered if she had a boyfriend now. She probably had had a little fling. He could sense the guilt in her voice. But why should she be guilty? They weren't a couple. She didn't owe him anything. Jane didn't know why she thought she did. Yes, yes he did. He knew she felt something for him. She shouldn't, though. He was broken, and a hazard to her. No matter how much he loved her, he wouldn't be able to protect her. He felt dizzy getting hit by a baseball, for goodness' sakes.

He couldn't be there for her, and she deserved better. He listened to the rest of the message.

"_Do you want to know why I keep calling you, Jane? When the rest of the team has given up on you? Huh, Jane? If you're listening to these messages but still not calling me back? After I tell you I love you, and you still don't even call to tell me that you would never love me back. Asshole," _There was her half-hearted attempt to berate him.

Jane ran his hands trough his hair. Had she really said that she loved him? Damn, he had deleted it. He knew he would have to hear it; at least just hear her voice say she loved him once before he died. The pain in her voice shook him. It would probably hurt her more once he came back, just to leave again. She was strong, she would find someone better. He just needed to hear it.

Jane stared at the sky through the dirty motel room's window. He couldn't see any stars. In Malibu you could see the stars. That's why he and Angela wanted to live there. You could see the shining orbs above the crashing waves while your toes squirmed through the wet, sticky sand. He loved beaches.

Thinking about the beach helped him block the pain. At least for a little while. It kept him from thinking about his families. About Angela and Charlotte, and his family at the CBI. Cho and Rigsby probably hated him for what he was doing to Lisbon, to their sister figure. And Grace looked up to Lisbon. It probably broke her to see Lisbon crushed. He hated himself for that.

He needed to go home. He needed to go home to Lisbon, where he didn't have a care in the world. He could just be around the people he cared about, and life would be good. It wouldn't be costing him anything to smile there.

The pain of losing his family was faded there. It was different pain. It hurt to start letting them go, but it got better. He could be happy and he could let himself go. It was good. But it was different while he was away from her.

Jane grabbed his phone that sat on the bed next to him and his suit jacket. He locked his motel door and gave the keys back to the manager. "Do you have a map, Sir?" He asked the guy at the desk.

"Sure," he pointed towards the wall of pamphlets.

"Ah, thank you. You don't happen to have any tea, do you?"

"Uh, no,"

"Hmm. Well thanks anyway. I can keep this?" The guy nodded. Jane was feeling better already.

He wandered the streets until he came to a taxi. "Where to?" The driver asked him.

"The nearest airport, please," Jane was going home.

He thought of the meaning of the word 'home'. To Jane, it meant the place where love was always enough, where he didn't need anything else. Where was his home? Wherever Teresa was, of course. He knew the whole thing sounded cheesy, but he couldn't help it. He was like that when it came to her.

He watched the planes land and leave for hours in the uncomfortable blue chairs that sat by the terminals lining the windows. Jane sipped on some of the tea he had gotten at the coffee shop in the food court. He didn't have the willpower to tell the young college girl that she had made his tea wrong.

Jane spent the plane ride catching up on his observation skills. All he had done during his five months away from the CBI was wait for Red John to come for him. He hadn't made any move to contact him. He hoped that he had succeeded in making him believe that he had moved on from the life that he had before. But he knew that that probably hadn't happened.

His flight landed around midnight. Jane decided he was going to walk all the way to Lisbon's apartment. When he reached her door, he knocked, which was very uncharacteristic of him. He was about to pick the lock of the door when he heard Lisbon's footsteps. Her head was down when she opened it.

"What is it? Don't you know how to tell time? It's 2 o'clock in the morning,"

"Lisbon," Jane said, "It's me,"


End file.
